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Chapter VI: Rescue at Schloss Caromarc
Schloss Caromarc, County Vieland He held the doll close to him, watching Father from behind the pillar. A comical sight, really: the pillar was nowhere near large enough for him to hide behind. His hair was flipped on his head in such a way as to block sight on the right side. Father had said it might start growing, using his own beard to explain how growth worked. Then he had used the homunculi, nasty little creatures that the Child had decided he did not like in the slightest. Squeezing the doll closer, the Child found his courage. It was that of a little girl, part of its neck resewn some time ago. Age had taken it, but it was well-cared for, even long after its owner had use for it. He sometimes wondered about its previous owner, his Brother. Father said that Brother never lived long enough to hold the doll, and gave it to him after a rather fruitless lesson trying to get him to write his letters. Father was not entirely cruel. Just most of the time. But he loved his Child. He knew that. He had to. The storm had been powerful, and the rain hitting them, the Child wondered if Father needed a covering. He sat there, whispering, weeping for something, as the device above flickered. It was sinister to him. He felt it as he felt himself: part of himself, yet not at all. "Father...?" "WHAT!?" He turned, his strong jaw clenched as if in pain. Father's hair was black, the edges near his ears white, and he was handsome, his eyes normally green and beautiful but now full of rage and fear. Veins on his forehead and around his eyes pulsated, and his hair stood on edge, fighting the rain: for the electricity that still ran through the device above. Another flash of lightning, and he looked skeletal, evil, terrible. The Child hid his face behind the pillar, as if he could not be seen. "I am... no I am not. Do you know, Child? Do you know why I created you? I want revenge. When your Mother died, the only thing I had left was the County, and they took it from me! Revolutionaries, anarchists who think they are fit to rule: they know nothing of the pressures of ruling! I alone know, only I in all of Vieland can understand. And do you know what? I had not the power to defend what was mine. So I created you. That is all you are. You are not even my child, merely an instrument of my revenge. I will destroy them, for not understanding, for attacking me in my darkest hour! But... you? You, such a mistake as you, are the instrument of my revenge? No, mere thing, you are not worthy. I will not wield you as a weapon. The Bondslave Thrall is a worthwhile invention, one of my greaters, but you could flatten the town. But where is the poetry in that? How could my message be on their lips as you crush their heads to jelly? They would not. You are too simple. You are too... imperfect. The wrong combination of parts. I must try again." He stood, walking to the Child. He reached up, almost impossible despite how tall he was, and brushed the tears from the whimpering brute. "I will always be your Father. But you are no child. You are not the son I deserve." "Father, I...." Father shook his head. "You must be gone from here. From Schloss Caromarc. I have engineers coming from Westcrown on the morrow and you must not be here. I do not care where you go. I do not care if you slink in the Dipplemere, I do not care if you wander from here to Tian Xia and ride on the back of a dragonturtle to those distant shores. Leave Schloss Caromarc. Do not return. You are my greatest failure." The Child felt in him a rage, growing at the rejection, at the banishment, but also the fear, the sadness, the loneliness. He was alone! How could he be alone, with a Father? But was.... he was not the child of any Father, he realized. Mother had died, taking with her the Son Father wanted. He was merely the replacement, and as Father had made so clear, an imperfect one. The Child slammed his fists into one of the other pillars, growling, and threw the doll at Father's feet, charging away to the stairs. Soon he would be off, down the turrets of the tower, through the museums and rooms and worse, and out the doors. He was disgusting, he was fraught, he was imperfect! Imperfect! Such a being as he, how could he be as perfect as simply having a son! Father watched him go, knowing he was wrong to do it, knowing that the repairs were not worth the words he had given. But he did not need the reminder. He was glad that the... creation was gone. He, too, was lonely, but he would rather be lonely with his rage than live with the reminder of his own failures. He looked at the box of spiders before him, of the ettercap eggs, and began to think. A new Promethean could be born....4 Gozran, 4711 AR Lepidstadt Hinterlands, County Vieland The crowds quickly petered out, left in the dust of their carriage, past Sanctuary. Above and beyond, Vutha and Kraa led, trying to follow the trail of their friend, Sullivani. Jamir gave advise as best he could, but rising in the air, even in the rain, the wind-swept towers of Schloss Caromarc were hard to miss. They must go past Sanctuary, as if going to Hergstag, and then turn right instead of left: the road would follow the Lesser Mourtray River to the castle. More alarming, there was little sight of Sullivani from above. He did not follow the road, of course, but if he was going to Schloss Caromarc, he had to have another way. Vutha knew. Of course she knew. He would go through the Dipplemere Swamp, past Morast, to Schloss Caromarc. And he had a headstart. The best way to catch him would be to try and cut him off before he entered the castle. Unfortunately it was a winding, twisting path for them, but the only safe way for the carriage to reach the castle. They had time on their hands, ahead of the crowds. They had better use it.
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With the rain pouring down in glorious sheets, and with the interior of the carriage still smelling like one of Pike’s awful cigars, the choice is clear: Mara again elects to sit outside, in the passenger’s seat next to Hrani, whom she has volunteered to be the driver. Though discomfited as usual by such overland travel, her annoyance seems to have lessened greatly. The steady rain is one obvious reason for her improved mood, but she is also distracted by the need to watch out for the mob, and for Sulliviani.
The mob itself is little more than a bump on the road. Zealously focused upon their prey, they do not notice the carriage until it is nearly upon them, and by that time the soprano has had a chance to do what she does best. Like at the courthouse yesterday night, the singer fills the air with powerful, Casting Enthrall once to bypass mobmagical music. But unlike her previous performance, this song has no words, or at least no words that the crowd can understand, though the magus recognizes at least one word in aquan: ‘deathwater’. The melody is dark and eerie, a slithering chromatic tune that seeks to insinuate control, rather than persuasion. Tonight’s goal is not to reason with the crowd, nor to deflect them with emotional pleas: there is no time. No, tonight is about control, turning the mob into helpless thralls, puppets with glazed eyes and dangling mouths who are powerless to offer any resistance. As the songstress sings her magical song, her normally light blue eyes become as black as the elf’s blade. Mara was nice to them once. She won’t make the same mistake twice. As they weave past and leave the stupefied crowd behind, she ceases, and her eyes gradually return to their usual color. “Do hurry Hrani. I would prefer not to deal with them again.”
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Hrani sits on the front of the carriage, where Mara had volunteered him to be as the driver. Truth be told, it probably made the most sense. Given the weather of his home, even if they didn't see rain often, the elf is used to being cold and wet, and probably better able to tolerate these conditions than anyone else. Aside from Mara herself, of course, who seems, if anything, happy about the downpour.
So the magus does not mind being out in the weather, nor does he mind sitting next to Mara in the least, but he is not particularly happy to be responsible for controlling the carriage. It requires his focus, or at least much of it, and Hrani does not like being able to use all of his attention to take in his surroundings. He becomes particularly tense when they pass the mob, which has swelled to impressive numbers even by the previous evening's standards. The insolent fools. 'Perhaps it is better that my hands are occupied with the reigns, lest I show them what I really think of their behavior.' In the end, it is not the magus who engages the rabble, but his songstress companion sitting next to him. When she opens her mouth, what comes out is beautiful, though in a very different way than the words coming from Mara's mouth usually are. From their lessons, Hrani understands a handful of the words, though it is 'deathwater' that sticks out. His tutor had explained many different forms of water to him, several of them beyond his comprehension. 'Deathwater', the elf had thought he sort of understood, even if not fully. That notion is quickly confirmed when he sees the reaction of those caught in the effect of Mara's song: Eyes glaze over, tension leaves their muscles, and they look like rag dolls more than a threat. Deathwater. "We shall go as fast as we can." Hrani confirms the songstress request. "And it is to your credit that you do not wish to deal with them again. For I would say that encounter made it pretty clear who would come out ahead if you did." The elf pays her a compliment, neither he nor Orenmir commenting on the jet black of her eyes, though both making note of it. "Don't worry, I do not see how they could catch us, unless there is another group ahead of us." With that, the elf pulls his eyes away from Mara's and returns them to the treacherous road ahead. |
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On hiatus while I figure out my gender. Checkout my games at itchio. my mailbox is full, but you can reach me on twitter: @goatmealery Last edited by goatmeal; Aug 4th, 2020 at 07:39 PM. Reason: Nat 1 changes everything. |
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Father of proud children. Expect the next 18+ years to be erratic and/or chaotic.
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#7
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Schloss Caromac
The name itself had stirred something within Pike, a name he had certainly heard before. Maybe from a book, perhaps from a tavern tale or even, possibly, from Professor Lorrimor himself? He wasn't sure, but he knew it from somewhere. Sitting inside the carriage with a small cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, a trail of smoke easing its way out the window as he busied himself with cleaning his crossbow, checking the string, making sure the clasp held. Anything to take his mind off the journey towards Schloss Caromac. The singing from outside sent shivers down his spine, she was doing it again, casting her charm on someone ahead. The mob, most likely. Within seconds he had the crossbow loaded and aimed out the open window, casually glancing at the crowd as they sped past them. He withdrew, but didn't unload his weapon until after they were well past the mob. The journey was made in silence, until broken by the words of Jamir. Pike gave him a nod "Good work, Master Jamir." was all he said, as he settled back and drew his hat over his eyes "Very good." |
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A quiet trip is not an uneventful one.
As Jamir helps to navigate with his connection to his familiar and with Vutha's know-how of the Dipplemere, those in the carriage are subject to the darkness of their situation: the failure of civilization over savagery, so to speak. What could overcome it, if not logic, if not emotion, if not ethics? Was this the nature of mortality? Spirits are dampened, but they still have a job to do: a friend to save. Mara enthralls the crowd as they passed, causing many to stop, a helpful move to delay them but how effective would it be in the long run? Within the carriage, they take the eastern road towards the castle, which disappears behind the trees of the Dipplemere. As they approach, then pass Morast, passing the Rest Lands, Torsten Pike recalls what he found there: the letter. But he cannot afford to be distracted, even with the knowledge of the Manticore there, what might have become of her. Distractions are a mote in the eye of failure: any distraction that can save their lives will be worth not making. The carriage continues, and soon, the castle appears once more. A tall, towering thing, its spires climbing well into the mountains behind it as the Lesser Mourtray River becomes something more like a lake, lights bear down only from the tallest of the towers. A keen eye might spy that the Humans within the group, those without darkvision, will need a torch. Kraa and Vutha do, too. As Vutha struggles to keep up with the winds and the revelry of this form, Kraa manages to spy Sullivani moving quickly below, almost to Schloss Caromarc. The information relayed back to Jamir, it becomes quite clear: they will not reach Schloss Caromarc before Sullivani. In fact, neither can Vutha or Kraa, as he runs up the hill, onto the road, and over the drawbridge, where torches ran out long ago. Within, though, are lights: and shapes, Vutha and Jamir spy. Roading the bend, they come closer, closer, ever closer to the castle, and as they do, the carriage arrives and meets with Kraa and Vutha. Too late, though: Sullivani not only went into the castle, he came back out and reentered the swamps, mumblings and whimpering. As they exit, Pike's keen ear can hear Sullivani. They can go after him, if they wish. In fact, they must, to save his life. Within, the shapes are indistinct, but there. There comes a growling, not unlike a dog, but also not unlike a gurgle. Schloss Caromarc is inhabited? or has the Count chosen guards of a less savory nature?
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Mara looks back and forth between Vutha and Kraa, confused by the news that Sulliviani went into the castle, then came right back out. “But … why in the ocean would Sulliviani do such a thing? Was not the purpose of this whole journey to see his father again?” Though still perplexed, once she learns that the golem is still nearby she quickly puts aside her doubts, ignoring the castle’s growling gurgles as she acts. Half closing her eyes in concentration, she inhales deeply, then unleashes her voice in a formidable display of operatic training powered by raw talent.
“SUL-LI-VI-A-NI!” Despite the force of her cry, her naturally liquid voice remains smooth and melodic, like a musical tsunami that resonates beautifully through the moist marsh air. The soprano repeats the call, and then again, but modulates it each time, like variations on a theme, before gliding effortlessly into a classical aria, aptly chosen as one where the performer Dice Perform (sing):
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Like a screech in the night, the song rends eardrums. Unlike a screech, the song is entirely pleasant.
There is a certain grandeur to being able to know one's environment and use it to one's advantage. A good singer, a diva worth the dime, knows how to throw her voice into the right nooks and crannies in any opera hall; a good soprano knows how to fill a theater for a death scene. A good falsetto knows how his voice will carry in a city square; a good baritone is able to make the deaf feel the power of his voice in the middle of a fiery confession. Mara has spent years studying the power of sound. Whether in the depths of Lake Encarthan or the concert halls of Caliphas, Mara knows the power of her own voice, has the ability to emote in such a way to drive fear from the creatures of the Dipplemere and soothe the sorrows of one Sullivani. Though he may have gotten far with his quick steps, he may not have gotten far. Still, for a moment, as the voice rings clear, echoing off of the stone walls of Schloss Caromarc, decayed and neglected, the only sound is a single brick falling from a parapet. Then a boom, a heavy boom, from the Swamp. Then a crunch, a stick breaking: and soon, the giant of white and red and clothes and hair appears. Sullivani has arrived, weeping. "Would an angel sing so, the heavens would catch afire, and all of the earth with it. Has my friend found me? Have my friends come to see Sullivani at his home so soon?" Charging up the hill, fear fills their hearts: is he going to crush Mara? But he stops, soon, and throws his massive humanoid arm around her, weeping at her feet, while the other, crab/tentacle arm does no such thing, holding him up. Eventually he looks up, his white eyes staring at her. "Hello. I have missed you. And my Father's new gatekeeper has sent me away. He says Father is not to have any guests until the experiment is over." The growling, more a gurgle, from across the drawbridge has become a whimper, fearful from the song of Mara.
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Mara shudders as the Beast drapes his monstrous, heavy arm around her slender shoulders. With an effort, she tries to avoid recoiling too much and forces an artificially bright smile. “We have missed you as well, of course.” The soprano draws upon her most soothing voice as she carefully pats the creature’s arm, both to console the Beast and to gently nudge the uncomfortable burden away from her shoulders. Perhaps more the latter than the former.
“We are ever so glad to have finally found you. There is a large mob on its way—they overheard you in the courtroom, saying that you would come here to Schloss Caromarc—and they mean you harm. We came as quickly as we could to warn you, and to help protect you.” The singer frowns as she looks up at the forbidding outline of the decaying castle. “This should provide safe sanctuary,” she exchanges a concerned glance with Hrani and Pike, wondering if this neglected place could offer the same protection as when it was properly maintained, “for surely the rabble cannot breach the defenses of a castle, no matter how hard they try? I am not certain that we can afford to wait for very long, however.” Her eyes search anxiously along the road. “The mob may arrive at any moment. I believe Jamir is correct—experiment or not, surely your father will not object to us waiting quietly in the antechamber? And if we could raise the drawbridge, the mob might never even know that you were inside!” The songstress smiles happily at the thought. “Do be a dear and accompany Jamir.” she asks Sulliviani while gently brushing off the last of his arm. For her part, Mara takes her sweet time, carefully smoothing out every wrinkle in her dress before finally holding out her hand expectantly, waiting for someone to help her down from the carriage and escort her across the drawbridge.
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Pike stepped out of the carriage, his hat on his head, a cigar in his mouth and a loaded crossbow in his hands. Mara had outdone herself, again, by the gods she was a talented one. Surely they would tell stories about the power of her voice one day.
But for now, they had a gritty work ahead of them. Of that the detective from Druma was certain. "You are a kind soul, my friend. Never forget that." he said through clenched teeth as he put a reassuring hand on the beasts shoulder "We'll deal with this gatekeeper, for after all this is your home. No one can take that away from you." but his father could, of course. It would take some persuasion to get the old count to realize that he was responsible for his creations well being and Pike, for one, was willing to push hard on that point. He double checked his weapon, nodded at Mara, then towards Jamir "Master Jamir, shall we let Runa and Hrani lead the way?" he wasn't sure what awaited them at Schloss Caromac, but he knew it wasn't anything pleasant. But given the present company he felt he had little to fear from this place. Nethys watch over me, let's hope I'm not wrong. |
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On hiatus while I figure out my gender. Checkout my games at itchio. my mailbox is full, but you can reach me on twitter: @goatmealery |
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Father of proud children. Expect the next 18+ years to be erratic and/or chaotic.
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